CHAPTER 04 - Unconventional Standards

During the fourth week of October, Camellia found herself the subject of McGonagall's attention.

"May I speak with you, Miss Potter?"

Camellia stopped in the doorway, stepped away from it, and approached her Transfiguration professor. Hermione hovered until she shooed her off and several of her classmates gave her curious looks.

"Yes?" she prompted.

McGonagall looked to be considering her words very carefully. Camellia waited in silence. She had Charms class shortly, but was certain she would be given a note, so she didn't spare it more than a passing thought.

"The Headmaster wishes for me to look into your home life," McGonagall eventually said. "He's concerned with how you're handling the pressure of your… status."

Just what was this woman implying about her parents? Her home life was quiet, fun, and peaceful and there was nothing anyone had done to make reasonable people think otherwise. Well, therein lay the problem, she figured.

Her eyes narrowed. "My parents raised my brother and myself with all their love."

"In isolation," McGonagall added.

"In isolation," She confirmed. "Considering how most have been treating me it's the best decision they could have made."

She watched the tight faced woman remove her glasses and wipe the lenses. Was it a show of disapproval or disappointment? Or just a relaxing habit? Camellia knew for a fact that wizard-made glasses had grime repellents. Her brother and father never had to clean theirs.

"Can you tell me nothing to assuage his concern?"

"There is nothing to be concerned about to begin with," she said firmly. "We were raised with our mother's wits, Professor, and we're doing very well for it."

McGonagall sighed, "Very well then."

She wrote a note to Flitwick and allowed her to go. Camellia hurried to the class, feeling a little agitated, and handed the note to the Charms professor. Hermione greeted her quietly once she sat down.

"What happened?" her friend asked.

"Dumbledore wanted to know about my home life. Concerned about how I was raised," she muttered.

Hermione's brow creased in confusion. "There's nothing wrong with you. Why would he need to know something like that?"

"Because I'm bloody famous," she grumbled.

They left it alone for the rest of the period, for which she was grateful. It made her angry enough just thinking about it.

-()_()_()-

In his circular office high in the castle, surrounded by all manners of knick-knacks and strange baubles, Dumbledore sat pondering the words of his Deputy Headmistress. It had not been his favorite idea, to send her to directly question the Girl-Who-Lived, but he was honestly at a loss for how else to get an answer. In retrospect, it was a rushed decision, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He focused on what he gleaned from it, rather than what he could have done differently. Camellia Potter had not said much in regards to her upbringing, but one thing in particular stood out to him—her claim that she had been raised with her mother's wits. Normally such a thing wouldn't raise any alarms, but when the mother in question was Lily Potter… With a thoughtful hum he brought his wizened old fingers together. His brow was faintly creased, causing his half-moon glasses to slide slightly down his crooked nose. Minerva must have noticed the subtle gesture, for she looked closely at him in concern. Her lips pursed, as was her habit when she was disquieted. Dumbledore smiled gently at her in an attempt to lessen her anxiety. Her face relaxed so he knew he must have been at least partially successful.

"Is something wrong, Albus?" she wondered. "My wording was less than perfect, I know, but..."

He sighed and shook his head ruefully. "Sometimes the sweetest apples… have the foulest worms inside."

Minerva looked bewildered at the pronouncement. Of course she liked to see the best in the students who dressed in red and gold. The outwardly angelic Lily Evans had been no exception to her optimistic mindset. When Severus's fingers were melted away, burned off, or fused together in Potions class—it was an accident, naturally. When the Slytherin common room had to be decontaminated of a mutated breed of lice—it was only a coincidence that Petunia Evans had lice at the time Lily went home for the winter break with that potions kit lent to her by Horace Slughorn. When, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus was cursed by a wayward hex or two—her aim was just a little off, she didn't mean to do it, really, and she was ever so sorry. Even outside of Hogwarts, following her graduation, Deatheaters disappeared almost as much as his own followers did if they acted out against her in any way. She had alibis and excuses that fooled everyone else, but Dumbledore saw what many of his staff did not. Lily Evans, now Potter, was a brilliant and vindictive woman who could nurse a grudge as though it were her own child and if she could nurture a grudge like so, then just how did she raise the two that actually did come from her womb?

If they were raised with their mother's wits, were they at least raised with their father's chivalry?

Not for the first time he wondered about the Potter family. James, who had once been so outgoing and carefree, was now a recluse who closely guarded his family's secrets. He was a prince in the air, a skilled Master of Transfiguration, and a respected auror, but no longer as sociable as he used to be. Lily, who had at one time appeared sweet and gentle, was actually a mystery of many faces. She became a Potions Mistress and Charms Mistress straight out of school, stunning everyone with her genius, but she rarely appeared in public anymore, choosing instead to merely sell potions every now and again. Their son, Harry Potter, the older twin—he was sorted into Slytherin! He was a cheerful boy who appeared interested in making friends. Dumbledore wondered now how much of that was a reflection of his mother's kindhearted façade, veiling a vicious heart. Then there was young Camellia. She had turned out nothing like he had envisioned the one chosen by Fate to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had whimsically pictured someone humble, friendly, and pleasant. He was surprised to receive a defensive, bitter girl who was almost completely disinterested in other people. Yes, the Potter family had changed in recent years.

And it bothered the old wizard that he hadn't quite seen it happen.

-()_()_()-

The leaves in the trees were rustling loudly all around. It was an intimidating sound that came naturally with the territory. Hogwarts had a lot of greenery, something that all but guaranteed that Harry would love it. He felt best when he was outdoors, which was why he was spending his free period out by the lake again. The black surface was rippling rapidly, but still gave no hint as to what lurked beneath his surface. He gave it a fond smile and silently promised that he would explore its depths someday.

"Harry."

He brushed his wind tousled hair from his face and turned around slowly to face the speaker. He smiled to see his sister standing there, along with her friend Hermione Granger, who was nervously toeing the ground. Mell was pinching the loose fabric of the other girl's sleeve as though she were trying to keep her from bolting. Or perhaps from flying away in the afternoon's stronger currents, but if that were the case then Mell, the smaller of the two, would have to be the one anchored.

"Shouldn't you be in History right now?" he questioned.

Hermione keened and Harry knew then just why she looked so nervous. She was passionately studious, so skipping class was probably blasphemous to her, no matter how monotonous the teacher was. He personally thought that a History class skipped was an hour well spent so long as Binns was the instructor. Their absence likely wouldn't be noticed anyway unless a classmate squealed.

Mell shrugged, face drawn. "McGonagall asked about how we were raised. Headmaster's request. It bothered me that she was implying mum and dad didn't do as well as they could."

Harry frowned at the explanation. Why would the Headmaster be concerned about that? Sure, Mell was considered to be the Girl-Who-Lived and possibly had some political leverage, but Dumbledore already had all that he needed. Why start prodding at her home life of all things? Camellia looked a little distressed, so Harry patted her on the head, promising to himself that he would add it to the questions he intended to bombard Remus with. Remus would answer anything if he phrased it just right.

"We were all being harassed left and right by anyone and everyone until mum pulled us all away from the public eye. If they didn't do the best they could, it's not their fault. They were backed into a corner," he told her.

Hermione's face was twisted in thought. He wondered if she was reflecting on how people treated Camellia around the school. It would make her a better friend, he believed, if she understood that the public was not gentle in their obsession and that the Potter family was hurt by some of the actions taken in the years after the war. They had been stalked and pounced on many times before Lily's plan to withdraw into isolation was forced by the swarm in Eturn. His sister must have noticed his eyes flickering over to the brunette, since she sighed and tugged her friend forward. The girl looked a little lost, so Harry offered his hand to her.

"We haven't met properly yet, have we? Harry Potter, Mell's brother." He grinned widely in encouragement.

She smiled shyly in return. "Hermione Granger."

They shook on it and stepped back, hair flying in every direction. He laughed at the sight and pulled his fringe away from his brow. The wind really was picking up. That along with the clouds rolling in foretold some rainfall soon, but he didn't want to return to the school just yet. The fresh air, chaotic as it was, was great.

"We should at least go somewhere that the wind is blocked." He suggested

Mell grabbed Hermione and dragged her along after him. There was a large collection of massive boulders on the other side of the lake that had several sheltered pockets. They made their way over without conversation. It would have simply been drowned out anyway. The storm brewing would probably be raging by dinnertime at this rate. Harry stretched out once they were under the relative cover of the mammoth rocks that vaguely resembled a cave. The howl of the wind picking up speed was muted and it was a little warmer as well. Mell sidled up to him and leaned on his shoulder. After some hesitation, Hermione did the same on her other side. She was not rejected for doing so. Interesting.

"You usually run off to be alone when you're upset," Harry remarked. "I'm surprised you brought a friend."

His sister made a noise that he interpreted as embarrassment. He smiled softly.

"I'm glad though. I can't be around all the time anymore since we're in different Houses."

He felt her poke his side sharply in protest, but she still said nothing. Hermione did though; he supposed she felt a little awkward remaining silent.

"You're not like the other Slytherins I've met," she observed. "The others are… well."

"Obnoxious? Rude?" Harry finished knowingly, "I know very well, though some are a lot nicer behind closed doors. I was sent there for the 'base qualities expected of the House rather than misplaced dreams of being better than everyone else.' Well, those were the hat's words anyway."

"Stupid hat," Mell grumbled.

Hermione giggled briefly but cut herself off. She was probably like Mell in that she would have fared better in blue. Ravenclaws were generally reclusive and didn't pry deeply into the business of others. Generally at least; he had the feeling that Mell would be questioned nonstop by some curious minds. Harry rolled his shoulders and checked the time with a quick tempus. The girls had forty minutes of History left to kill. He pulled a stack of cards from his robes and waved them around with a smirk.

"Exploding Snap?"

He was surprised when Mell took it and began laying the cards out. She hated the game and refused to play it whenever Sirius brought out his deck, as she was easily upset by loud noises and didn't care for the eyebrow-singing that often accompanied an intense round. He had only brought it out to tease her. But then Hermione looked around her shoulder with a blatantly curious expression on her face and Harry quickly stifled a laugh. Whether she knew it or not, the brunette was starting to reveal herself as a positive influence.

"You see two identical cards and you hit them for a point. The deck shuffles faster with each pair tapped and if you tap one card but miss the matching one, that card you tapped will probably explode shortly after if you don't match it quickly," Mell droned. "You win if you get the most points."

Hermione shuffled around the rows of cards to get in a better position and scanned the pictures printed on them. It was probably the first close-up of a wizard's game she had ever seen, if the rapt look of fascination was anything to go by. It was one of those little cultural differences that needed to be picked up in person. Muggleborns tended to enjoy Exploding Snap the most for its pyrotechnics and self-shuffling features. Harry moved around to the opposite side of the game from Hermione and brought out his wand. The others did the same.

"Ready?" he asked. "Start!"

Hermione turned out to have good reflexes and an eye for detail. She rapidly hit bowtruckle after bowtruckle and dragon after dragon until she missed a flobberworm and singed her sleeve. The cry of surprise as the card detonated sent Mell into startled giggles. She won the first game, beating Harry by three points and Mell by seven. At Hermione's insistence, they played several rounds more that lasted a good half hour longer than History ran. They likely would have continued if it weren't for the telltale sound of raindrops plopping down on the rocks. The trio stared at the dark splotches of wet stone for a moment before Harry gathered and pocketed his deck.

"Looks like the storm's starting," he sighed, standing.

It was a little disappointing. Hiding in a cave with two class-skippers to play Exploding Snap was actually one of the more enjoyable things he had done all month, even topping his weekly narrations of deadly potion alterations to Blaise. A clap of thunder had them hurriedly gathering their belongings and racing back to the castle, laughing breathily all the way as the drizzle turned into a downpour. Once inside they continued their hustle through the halls and finally paused at the base of the Gryffindor tower to cool off, ignoring the odd stares of passing students.

"I'm soaked!" Hermione exclaimed.

Mell helpfully cast a drying charm. It wasn't perfect and left them all still damp, but they weren't dripping anymore. The feeling was distinctly uncomfortable and made him yearn for a shower. Thank Slytherin those were private as well. The man must have been more secretive than anyone gave him due credit for.

"We should get cleaned up before dinner," Harry told them.

He moved to leave, but was stopped by his sister's hand wrapping around his wrist, so he turned back around and waited expectantly.

"I need to talk to you," she said. "Hermione, I'll be up in a minute."

The pair waited until she was out of earshot and gave their surroundings a few checks to ensure they were at least feasibly alone. Harry had to stop himself from cringing when Mell's grip tightened until her knuckles were white. It was from years of practicing Quidditch in the yard. He had no doubt she'd make a good beater if she could find someone to work with her. She leaned in, eyeing him warily.

"I know you're collecting," she murmured, "but she's my companion."

Harry grinned crookedly at the display of possessiveness. She had only known Hermione for a month and a half now, but was already viewing her like that? Somehow the girl must have made an impression somewhere. The attitude Mell was hinting at was not dissimilar to the way she saw her precious pet cat, something Harry thought a little funny. He hoped her friend didn't mind the comparison if she ever found out. Harry disregarded his sister's scowl as he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"I won't ignore anyone's usefulness, but I won't go out of my way to mess with her either," he promised.

He stepped back, forcing her to release her grip or be dragged along. She folded her arms and half-turned to the stairway. Her face held a satisfied expression, though she tried to hide it with her typical frown.

"I'll see you later," she muttered.

Harry watched her go, feeling oddly lighthearted, and began walking in the opposite direction to the Slytherin common room. He whistled merrily on his way.

-()_()_()-

The week following their little getaway in the makeshift cave by the lake found the school decorated very thoroughly for Halloween, but she wasn't feeling the festive atmosphere at the moment. Rather the opposite actually. Camellia felt like she should have expected it, like she really should have expected it. The signs had been there, but she didn't know how to interpret them. She felt particularly angry with herself. Hermione sniffled from behind the stall door she was pacing in front of. It didn't help any with the maelstrom rolling around her head.

"And then he s-said that I didn't really have any f-friends."

She punched a door and flinched at the loud bang it made. It wasn't satisfying at all. It wasn't the face of whoever had made Hermione cry.

"Camellia?"

Hermione's high pitched whine only made her angrier, but not at the crying girl hiding in front of a toilet. She huffed and leaned against the sink. She wasn't much at comforting, but there was no one else around to try it either. She couldn't stand hearing the chatty bookworm sound so small. It reminded her too much of Deidre's first encounter with a thunderstorm. Pitiful and weak. It didn't suit the chatty, pushy girl.

"He's wrong," she grumbled.

The situation in general was wrong. She and Hermione should be down in the Great Hall enjoying the Halloween Feast surrounded by all the decorations and good food. Her stomach growled at the thought of the orange jelly she knew must be down there.

"Are we friends?" Hermione asked meekly.

It was something she had yet to say out loud, but it was an apt enough description by her guess. It wasn't like she'd ever had a friend before for comparison. She claimed Harry to be her friend, but he was her brother, so she wasn't sure that counted.

She had to force the answer out. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed. "You don't sound sure! I—"

She was cut off when the lavatory door blew open. Camellia threw herself off the sink and darted to Hermione's stall door, already gagging at the sudden whiff of sweat and dung that practically rolled off the creature in the entry. Its appearance was just as disgusting as its scent.

"What was that!?"

There was a click as Hermione unlatched her door and then she was screaming in Camellia's ear. Her eardrums throbbed at the onslaught. Immediately, the troll headed in their direction.

"Move!" Camellia bellowed.

She yanked Hermione out of the stall, narrowly avoiding a messy clubbing, and they both toppled over to land under the sink. The toilet was broken now and spilling water across the stones. With a grunt Camellia hauled Hermione up, trying to drag her toward the hall, but her stunned friend was surprisingly heavy.

"Hermione! Wake up!"

The delay gave the troll enough time to jerk his club up from the porcelain ruins and swing it wildly at the faucets. Camellia cringed at the sharp tinkling of breaking glass, dropping Hermione, who was brought back to awareness by the short fall. She scrambled to her feet, staring in horror at the misshapen creature. Her eyes were still red from her earlier tears.

"Is that a troll!? Camellia, that's a troll!"

She shrieked and dove out of the way of another blow, landing painfully on her elbow if her cry was anything to go by. It kicked Camellia out of her daze. She pulled out her wand and cast the basic fire spell, barely singing it, but its attention turned to her instead. She was sent sprawling shortly after by a sudden blow to her side and cursed her carelessness. Her mother had already explained how to deal with these things. Gaea's Mane had its fair share of forest trolls trudging around and her parents had been forced to defend her and Harry from them several times.

"Camellia!"

The troll lumbered for the brunette again. Camellia forced herself to focus, noticing very quickly that her wand was no longer in hand. She groped frantically for anything in reach and brushed the cold metal of a busted faucet pipe. The troll's back was to her, exposed. Her dad always liked to get their backs turned. He liked to confuse them and then move in with all of his power. In contrast, her mother liked to aim for the eyes. She surged to her feet, knowing which she was going to have to try.

"Get away from her!" she yelled.

She swung the pipe as hard as she could at the back of the creature's knees and was rewarded with a fleshy thwack and a roar of pain. The troll, unbalanced by the attack, slid in the water that coated the floor. Its landing shook the room. Hermione, still horrified, raised her wand.

"Flipendo!" she gasped.

The club was wrenched into the air. Its weight brought it back down quickly. The troll's nose broke with the impact. It roared again, sweeping its arms around in anger. Camellia tackled Hermione out of the way, trying hard to ignore the throbbing of her upper body. She was wheezing in pain and breathing hurt.

"I'll be every friend you need," she whispered harshly, impulsively. "So stop being so insecure!"

She threw the faucet pipe at the troll's face as it was reaching for its club, nailing it right in its damaged nose. It collapsed heavily, bleeding and breathing erratically. Camellia sank to her knees, heart pounding but feeling drained. Hermione, cradling her elbow, was quickly at her side.

"Camellia, are you alright?"

She could only grunt in response as a flurry of footsteps came up the hall. Just minutes too late, the professors arrived. They gaped at the scene in front of them. She had to focus just to make out their swimming faces.

"Miss Potter, Miss Granger! What in Merlin's name is going on here!?" McGonagall demanded.

Camellia growled, "I was comforting Hermione after some housemates made her cry and a troll burst in."

Her Head of House spluttered and stood there, looking floored. Flitwick approached though and cast a few diagnostic spells. He hissed at the results.

"Never mind that now, Minerva!" he barked. "They're both injured."

The tiny man helped them both up and guided them out of the bathroom. Quirrel looked faint, Snape sneered, and Dumbledore's expression was an unfamiliar one, but they were of no consequence to her now, as she and Hermione were led down the stairs to the infirmary. She couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be a regular thing.

-()_()_()-

Harry sat in an armchair in the Slytherin common room surrounded by many of his housemates. The searing headache that had spontaneously developed when Quirrel rushed into the Great Hall during the feast had mostly receded, but there was still a phantom pain stinging his right side, just over the ribs. Headaches were one thing; sudden aches elsewhere were usually a sign that his sister had gotten herself into trouble. It happened to magical twins with considerable frequency, and he could personally vouch that it was true. When one was injured, the other could occasionally tell, though they wouldn't feel it as strongly. The theory was that it only happened in high-stress situations, which was why he felt nothing when Mell fell from her broom. Harry rubbed the sore spot, frowning slightly in thought. The fact that a troll was loose in the castle at the same time he was feeling this ache was not likely a coincidence, but they had yet to receive any word on what was going on. He sighed and looked around the room for a lack of anything better to do. Across from him sat Blaise, reading a book about venomous creatures and how to milk them. Harry had loaned it to the other boy when he'd expressed interest in it. A friend of his mother's wrote it. The other students were still nibbling on the food that had been delivered to them to make up for the interruption of the feast.

The common room door swung open and Snape limped in. Everyone looked up in tandem with their faces twisted into curiosity. Harry mused that they all looked much younger with expressions like that, rather than the leers they usually sported. They looked much less unpleasant. Their Head of House moved to the center of the room, eyes roving until they landed on Harry, who found himself on the other end of a hard stare.

"Mister Potter," he began, "your sister has landed herself in the Hospital Wing after attempting to fight the troll. She probably thought she could handle it… after months of listening to little else but praise."

He couldn't hold back a snort. Many of the people around him gave him incredulous looks and even Blaise looked up long enough to raise an eyebrow in question. He realized that his reaction must have looked bad explained himself.

"I can assure you she listened to none of it," he said dryly. "If she ran into the troll it wasn't by choice."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I wonder what the girl would think of that unconcerned reaction."

It wasn't like he was unconcerned, it really wasn't. Mell's ribs were probably broken, judging by what he was feeling and that was far from a good thing because broken bones really hurt. It was just that both he and his sister were no strangers to attacks by wild beasts. He was confident that she was alive, healing well, and acting as sarcastic as ever. Just like every other time she was confined to a bed. So, feeling a little bold, Harry offered his Head of House a thumb up and a grin.

"I bet she beat it bloody!" he declared cheerfully. "Just like mum would have."

For the life of him he couldn't figure out why Snape would look so put out at that statement. His face eventually fell into his standard sneer.

"You of course cannot visit until the allotted visitors' hours tomorrow, regardless of your sister's celebrity status," Snape informed him.

Harry shrugged neutrally in response. He had four hours until midnight and his invisibility cloak pocketed. What did allotted times mean to him?

"The situation with the troll has been resolved," the dour man continued, this time addressing the whole of the room. "However, as there is a mere hour left until curfew, I would advise you to not wander about."

He exited with his cloak fluttering heavily behind him. Harry leaned forward to pick a book out of his bag and relaxed into the armchair, ignoring the stares on him. Hugh Morris's Set Ups and Take Downs was calling his name. He would be the sixth person to read it, as it hadn't been mass-produced yet, and he felt positively giddy about it. So he settled in, hoping that Mell would be awake when he visited.